I’ve somehow hiked 70 miles this year.

I like hiking. I always have. But I’ve never hiked quite this much.

Having kids really put a damper on hiking. I still hiked, but when there were lots of little kids at my feet, and it was really hard to go anywhere and go there for very long.

A few years ago, I started running off and on, and sometimes I would go on trail runs. Mostly I would run around my neighborhood. Running got me more used to going outside, to spend time by myself exercising.

Now I’ve started trail running a bit this year, not totally on purpose. I got sick of running on the road. I thought I was going to stop running, but then I wanted to try a really long trail, and I didn’t have a lot of time, and it felt nice to run. Trail running is slower. It’s more beautiful. And I want to go further, actually.

By trail running, I mean that I run sometimes, not that I run all of the time. I don’t run when going up steep hills. I don’t run when the trail gets too rocky. And when I run, it’s usually a slow jog. I’m going at my own pace–too slow for some, too fast for others–but when I’m just alone with my dog on the trail, I can go however fast I want to.

I own too many pairs of shoes, some old and some new–new hiking boots, trail runners, other running shoes, other hiking shoes, older hiking boots–because different shoes are nice on different trails and different conditions, and I’m becoming more particular about how my feet feel when I go.

My kids are older. They tolerate and somewhat enjoy hiking, but they also most often sit at home while I go by myself. I live by lots of good trails, and sometimes I repeat trails and sometimes I try new places. I put hiking on the calendar, squeezing it in between taxiing my children to jobs and library trips and all of that. They complain about how bad I smell when I get home, relieved when I take a shower.

And I still take the time to stop and take pictures and that surrounds me.